A Walk in the Dark
by celena murdock
Summary: HGDM This story will follow Hermione on a side plot of reckless infatuation and love, taking place alongside HBP. Hermione encounters a new mystery, and seeking to solve it, she will eventually have to chose between life and love.
1. A Walk in the Dark

This story begins during Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince after Christmas Break. It will follow Hermione on a side plot with so many twists and turns it would make a roller coaster dizzy. She will eventually have to choose between life and love.

Ch.1 – A Walk in the Dark

Browns and reds blended together with a warmth inherent in the Griffindor common room. Yet the chamber darkened with the setting of the sun, and decadently luxurious furnishings – all of a sudden – seemed oppressive. Brilliantly regal colors so cheery in daylight hours were deadened due to the encroaching shadows. Even with the many desk lights, loud chatter, and unhindered movement, everything seemed quite gloomy. Or perhaps it was merely the anxiety of dozens of students who hadn't finished their homework yet.

Hermione huffed and didn't lose the opportunity to comment to her peers about the detriments of procrastination. They would be resuming their studies the following day after almost a fortnight of winter break, and there was no lack of last minute scribbling on parchment, perusing of textbooks, and skimming over notes. Hermione smirked to herself at some of the dirty looks passed her way and enjoyed being obnoxious – just a little bit. After all, they sort of deserved it. Hermione haughtily shook her head at Harry and Ron who were rushing to finish their homework. She had warned Harry, and Ron both knew better. Furthermore, it was in her esteemed opinion that Ron presently deserved any discomfort to come his way.

Smile slightly dropping, she sighed serenely and dropped her uptight demeanor. She wasn't quite in the mood for anymore teasing. The atmosphere of the common room was too tense for comfort; perhaps she needed a little air. Furthermore, the strained character of her relationship with Ron certainly didn't bode well for her temperament. Thus, Hermione decided to relish a few moments of tranquility before the flourish of activity which always accompanied the start of a new term. Excitedly, she snatched a book from her bag, went over to Harry to tell him she was going out, and skipped out of the dormitory.

Stepping into the deserted hall, her mood calmed and she walked slowly and warily towards the entry hall, not sure of the reason for her abrupt caution. It wasn't as though she had to worry about getting caught out of the dormitory. She could always bat her eyelashes, look innocent, and claim to have forgotten a book by the lake. Hermione had always been good at getting out of trouble. Yet for some reason, Hogwarts just seemed a little more somber than usual. Therefore, she deemed it best to keep her presence unnoticed and, like a tomb raider, stealthily crept through the castle's front doors and across the grounds as though wary of disturbing the rest of ancient kings.

The castle was simply breathtaking at night, and the landscape and foliage seemed to be made of sparkling emeralds. Dazzling as it was, Hermione didn't stop to look for long. Her legs carried her quickly of their own volition. In her mind, her soul was reaching out towards something which drew her towards the forest and kept her walking. Out there somewhere was a mystery which needed probing. There was a secret obscured by the trees that she had to uncover. Hypnotically she delved deeper into the wilderness searching for some place, some particular tomb which only she could touch. It was as though there was something out there – something exclusively hers – that was waiting for her and that needed her. Hermione was no fool, yet this vague fantasy persisted intensely. It was more than a simple sentiment, for her heart had never before ached so. The further she went, the more desperate she became. Not only was she needed, but she needed this something as well.

She was closer. She slowed. Hermione tried to laugh at her irrationality, but somehow couldn't. Divination might have been a joke, but her instinct and the instincts of her friends had saved all of them on more than one occasion. She stopped abruptly and pulled back a tree branch obscuring her view. There it was. Hermione gazed across a very small and nearly empty meadow. Empty but for a little bench and an unlit lantern suspended above it. It was almost eerie how perfect it all was. 'Almost,' because never had Hermione felt less nervous or frightened. There was no need. The bench and lamp were hers, waiting for her. She had found a little piece of heaven.


	2. Refuge

Ch.2 - Refuge

Two dull eyes stared out from behind the evergreen branches. They watched a young woman emerge from the opposite side of the meadow and peer around her with a deep sigh of contentment. The boy to whom the eyes belonged observed her make her way towards him, entirely unaware of his presence. She was different, changed in his eyes. Her demeanor was quite curious, completely at ease. This was a side of her he had never before seen, scarce imagined. She was a beautiful mystery, as pure as the moon and as puzzling as an unreadable book or uncharted sky.

His eyes, at first undemonstrative, narrowed and hardened. Never had he hated her more. Why was she here? Out of everything she had ever done, this was the worst. She had stolen his refuge, his sanctuary. His only home. For it was only here that he could brush off the anger and the hatred. Here he never dealt with expectations: his family's or even hers. Here, he wasn't his father's son, but a young nameless boy. A young man who existed, more often than not, despondently. But even that was better than the pain and the helplessness.

And yet, here she was: his sworn enemy. He didn't want to hate her, not here. This was the only place in the world where he didn't have to hate. Here, he didn't have to hurt or even pretend. He merely existed. Sometimes a pathetic excuse of an existence, but it was special and sacred to him nonetheless. And he didn't want her to take that from him.

Oddly, her presence did not feel all that intrusive. While it weighed on his mind and caused him inner turmoil, it felt somewhat natural, almost normal for her to be here. He wanted to yell at her, assault her, or throw her out, but his heart wouldn't have been in it. She seemed so at home in his little glade. The image of her petite form reclining in his glade was so fitted that it could have been an image in the painting of a master.

Here, once again, she had beaten him. In classes she bested him. During first year she had garnered the friendship of the Boy-Who-Lived after he failed. Miraculously, she had acquired great popularity and was trusted among all three houses - Slytherin, naturally, excluded. While, he didn't desire such a reputation, it certainly had its uses. The first step to using people was to gain their trust. She was better at practical magic than he and had overcome many trials, even beating the Dark Lord's followers. Furthermore she caused the incarceration of his father. He didn't think there existed a single being anywhere whose presence would have been less welcome to him. And finally, she stole his last refuge and his final source of sanity. But in spite of everything, in a way, he didn't really want her to leave. No matter how unwelcome, she was company in his lonely world.


	3. Wistful Longing

Ch.3 – Wistful Losses

Hermione sat down on the bench for a while, looking around the meadow but never searching the trees behind her. She didn't need to. There was no reason to be mistrustful of the darkness. Then, Hermione reached up, on her tip toes, to turn on the lantern suspended above her. Her fingertips were just shy of the switch. She sat down to determine a solution to her problem. Just as Hermione began to get frustrated, a hand reached out from behind her amongst the trees and pulled the switch. It should have frightened her. She should have screamed or jumped, but she didn't. A part of her almost expected something like that to happen. She muttered a thank you and turned around. And she was face to face with Draco Malfoy.

If she was startled or upset, Hermione didn't show it. For that matter, he seemed much more surprised by his own actions than she did. Like an opossum caught in headlights he faltered slightly. He wasn't quite sure why he had done it. Why had he revealed himself when he should have just disappeared? It was merely that she had looked so perfect in the soft moonlight on his bench. His hand had moved of its own accord, and he couldn't quite wish that it hadn't. But he wasn't ready to face her. Not on these terms. And he would have spooked and left had he not been taken with something strange in her face. Certainly, his identity was unexpected and her eyes widened with a sharply cautious gaze. Yet she was gentle. Though sitting vulnerably exposed, she possessed such strength of spirit that it seemed as though she held power and control of the situation.

She began, very softly, "Draco … What are you doing here?"

He stared back forcefully, yet did not respond, until she asked again, more warily and rising to her feet, "What did you help me for?"

Draco stirred heatedly, but flustered and disjointedly, "Why do you call me by my first name? I never meant to help you. What are you doing here, Mud…"

He had to stop. It wasn't worth it to him. Here, he didn't want to hate, banter, or fight. It would cost him far more than it could ever cost her. Emanating passionate and raw emotions, Malfoy could only lose his one haven. This meadow made him so bare that he didn't have the energy to feel. Completely drained, his shoulders slumped and he turned around to walk away.

"Wait…" she whispered, so softly that he scarcely heard her.

He glanced back glaring darkly and sighed, "Just let me be. I'm sick of it. Of everything. Leave me to my little peace." His voice trailed off so that his last sentence was a murmur.

He walked off, head held high and step strong until he was far enough off that she could no longer hear him. Then he began to run. As he dashed away, as though possessed, she uttered aloud to the night, "I'm sorry." She hazily imagined that the lost soul she had met could hear her.


	4. Lost in Thought

Ch. 4 - Lost in Thought

Hermione yawned loudly as Parvati shook her, roughly. "Come on Hermione. Get up." Hermione hadn't slept much and was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally. Through the open window, the sun shone down brightly on her bed, and she rubbed her eyes trying to cling onto the last fragments of some dream she'd been having. It was useless to try to remember, even though the overall sentiments remained. She wasn't very surprised that the lingering impressions of her dream reflected her confusion from last night. She couldn't help treating Draco Malfoy's mysterious behavior like an unsolved Arithmancy problem. And try as she might, she couldn't find the answer.

She had stayed in the meadow long after he left last night, entranced by the phenomenon that was Draco Malfoy. Although she certainly grieved for his lamentable upbringing, her pity was quite detached. After all these years, Hermione's sympathy and compassion regarding Malfoy was limited. She didn't really believe he could ever be saved. No matter how painful and sad his life could be, the boy honestly wanted to be Draco Malfoy. And nothing short of Voldemort's defeat and his family and friends's complete decimation would change that.

But this side of him fascinated her nonetheless. The raw thick emotion that radiated from him was inordinately poignant. In truth it was overwhelmingly intoxicating because it was so foreign in him. She knew that she had stumbled on his private abode. It wasn't as though he revealed this side of himself to her out of any bond between them. She had merely collided into him in the right place at the right time. Or wrong, perhaps. But she couldn't forget the sorrow in his eyes and the grief in his voice, and for the life of her she couldn't label its cause. It was maddening. Of course, Malfoy had reason to be in pain. More reason than most in fact. But Hermione didn't think that the causes which inspired pity in her, had much to do with Malfoy's suffering. Malfoy relished in his family, his station, and his situation in life. He'd never really been very hard to read, or so she had thought. It was those remembered eyes which were so exasperating because they possessed a depth Hermione had never expected in Malfoy. Funny, but no matter how she tried to approach things rationally and without bias, she had never really imagined that Malfoy could feel loneliness.

A familiar voice interrupted her thoughts. "What has you so done in? You're usually the first one up in the mornings. Late night?" Parvati raised her eyebrows mischievously and looked around the room to make sure no one was listening. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you've up and been shagged. Alright, well. Who's the lucky boy? It wasn't Weasley, was it? If it was, don't tell me. It's in the friendship contract with Lavender to inform her if I know that her boyfriend cheats. Though ... I might actually be able to keep a secret to save my best friend a little heartache..."

Hermione rolled over to face away from her roommate with an exasperated groan and firm rebuttal. Parvati just laughed, "Yeah, I guess Ron is a bit too hardheaded and emotionally thick to even figure out what he wants. Don't you ever dare tell Lav I said that! Anyways, you should probably just give up on him." Parvati winked at Hermione. "Besides, it's not as though there aren't a lot of other cute boys in this castle. And you, missy, are in the best position to lay claim to Hogwarts's most eligible bachelor!" Parvati lightheartedly grumbled in pretend jealousy.

Hermione chortled and half-joked, "As though there's anything to envy. I have absolutely no intentions on that man. Harry's a right pain as it is. Can you even imagine how much worse he'd be as a boyfriend? Talk about high maintenance. Hah! I worry enough about him as it is!" They both giggled, and if any of her male acquaintances had seen her then, they never would have known Hermione.

The laughter died down as the girls got up to get ready for school, leaving a lingering warmth throughout the dormitory. But as Hermione got up to get dressed, a wisp of her dream reasserted itself and a few tendrils of anguish and regret clung to her. It wasn't until she joined Harry at the bottom of the stairs to go to breakfast that she was able to fully extricate herself from its clutches.

At breakfast, her eyes bored into the side of his head watching his every reaction and subtly trying to probe into the deeper side of Draco that only she had seen. Yet last night was an eternity away. There were no apparent similarities between this arrogant and spiteful boy and the desperate man of the night before. Though the more she delved into behavior, she saw the many insecurities evinced throughout his years of schooling -- the same insecurities he had boldly expressed last night.

But back in the glade, it had been as though Draco had nothing else to lose, and that certainly wasn't true now. Though his father and family had fallen in the eyes of the world, Draco had hardly seemed aimless this year. Harry might be obsessing about Draco's schemes and importance in the fight with Voldemort, but Draco certainly believed the same. However that, too, was hardly new. Draco had always believed in his own importance, in spite of all else. And there lay the root of her inquiries. Last night Draco had hardly seemed to exhibit self-importance. It was as though he wanted to not be identified or special, and as ironic and appalling as it might seem, in that instance, he reminded her of Harry.

"Hermione!" Ginny practically shouted. "Whatever has gotten into you? You haven't said a word all meal." Hermione snapped to attention and joined their conversation. Harry had once again been concocting various possible schemes that he thought Malfoy might be up to, and Ginny had gotten Hermione's attention in an effort to divert the topic of discussion. As Harry gazed over to the Slytherin table, eyes full of contempt, Ginny pleaded with Hermione to distract him. She followed Harry's gaze just as Draco glanced up at them, and she thought - as Draco's eyes met hers - that they shone with greater hatred than she had ever seen in them. She looked at Harry and knew that he probably attributed Draco's look to another nefarious scheme.

"Hey Harry, how's Quidditch going lately?" Everyone, including Harry, turned to Hermione in awe. When had she ever cared about Quidditch. Quickly, however, everyone realized her less than subtle ploy at grabbing Harry's attention, and the Griffindor table emitted a string of laughs.

"Come on, it's time to go to class anyways. Ginny, what's your first class?"


	5. Tedious Routine

This story take place after winter break of Harry, Ron, and Hermione's 6th year (alongside the story of the Half-Blood Prince).

Summary of previous chapters: Hermione goes exploring the night of everyone's return to Hogwarts after winter break while all other Gryfindors are finishing their homework. She encounters this beautiful clearing within the Forbidden Forest that has a bench and lamp. All of a sudden Draco Malfoy emerges from the trees, appearing vulnerable and then runs off. Hermione goes on with her everyday life at Hogwarts, still avoiding Ron, and Malfoy is as hateful as ever.

Ch. 5 – Tedious Routine

The day dragged on painfully slowly. Luckily, Lavender would corner Ron at the beginning of each class and sit with him, sparing Hermione and the two boys additional awkwardness. She and Harry were left to find their own table and they both gravitated to the back of the classroom for similar reasons. From this point of view they could observe everyone in the classroom without being noticed. Neither spoke very much, for their minds were on other things. Throughout the course of the day's classes both darted their gazes towards the same subject – Draco Malfoy.

Finally, in Transfiguration, Hermione shook her head to clear it. She had enough to worry about without wasting her time and energy thinking about that malicious boy. No matter that he had more than one side to him. So did every other living person. Besides, she was behaving in the same appalling obsessive manner as Harry. And that was certainly a frightful thought. This was one time when she would have to resist her impulse to track down the answer to an obscure problem. Unless she resolved to completely block it out of her mind, it would continue to bother her until she solved it. So she would block it out. She decided to distract herself with some her work. It's not like it hadn't worked in the past. In fact she found this to be the most successful way to distract herself from anything. It had even worked when her friends had been so angry with her in their third year.

So, following their afternoon classes and dinner, Hermione dragged Harry to the library. She spent the rest of the evening until dinnertime with Harry, badgering him to do his work, and losing herself in her studies. Harry didn't really complain much, and that bothered her the most. He oscillated between doing his work and starring off into space. She was so worried about Harry. She knew how powerless he felt first hand, but she was terrified that he would crack and do something really reckless.

All this worrying and fretting was likely to make her mad and very quickly at that. As curfew approached, Hermione was incredibly relieved. So much for stilling her jumpy thoughts and nerves with some reading. Studying with Harry was like trying to relax next to a sleeping hippograff. A hippograff consumed by nightmares and likely to wake up and devour you in any second.

"Harry" she murmured receiving no response. He was staring out the window of the library completely immersed in his thoughts. Hermione almost wished she could read his mind so that she would know how to better help him or talk to him. Harry's intensity sometimes frightened her because she could never quite understand its logical origin. He was so full of passion and feeling that he didn't respond to anything rationally. Least of all his own emotions.

This time she prodded Harry whispering sharply in his year, "Harry". He jumped so suddenly, and faced her with a strange look on his face which vanished in an instance.

"Harry, it's time to go."

Hermione all but dragged Harry towards their rooms, as Harry starred off into space.

Arriving back in Gryffindor tower, Hermione all of a sudden wished that she and Harry hadn't left the library. There in the center of the common room stood Ron. Trying to maintain her cool, Hermione breathed deeply and channeled all her emotions into the death glare she was sending Ron. The only thing that restrained her from launching herself at Ron in a fit of rage was the fact that Lavender was no where to be seen.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione announced loudly and directed entirely to Harry. Ron continued to try to look at Harry, but kept sneaking obvious glances her way out of the corner of his eyes. A frustrated huff and loud steps were the only sound of her departure, as Harry continued to look at her helplessly. It served them both right, she thought. Let Ron deal with Harry's emotional problems, and let Harry deal with Ron's ahole-like behavior.

She got ready to bed and shuffled under her covers sufficiently drained. She was restless and didn't really feel like sleeping, but her body was exhausted. However, she hadn't slept much the night before, and she couldn't wait for the blissful ignorance of slumber. So she lay immobile and counted, slowly trying to still her mind. At about count nine, she peeked through her groggy eyelids to stare out the window towards the Forbidden Forest. By eighteen, she was sound asleep.

Hermione sat up abruptly in fear. Her eyes slowly peered around the 5th year girl's dormitory obscured by the haze of sleep. Pulling her legs up towards her chest, Hermione stilled her rapid heartbeat. She wrapped her arms around her knees and tried to remember the dream she had just had. Hermione's whole body ached with the tension in her muscles, and by now, she was wide awake. She glanced at the clock upon the wall, and it read 3:00am. The almost moon shone in her eyes and she got up to close the blinds. Standing by the window she saw a figure make its way out of the forest towards the castle. It was Malfoy.

Her mind reeling, Hermione knew that she would never be able to fall back asleep. Her mind drifted from Malfoy, and the walls seemed to close in on her as she remembered the terror from the dream she couldn't quite remember. Quickly making her way out of the dormitory, Hermione chastised herself for not being able to remember her dream. You'd think something that scary would be important enough to remember.

A few summers ago, having finished reading all the magical books she brought home for the summer, Hermione had read a book on lucid dreaming. Skimming through her parents' bookshelves at home, it was one of the few non-medical books and had seemed somewhat interesting. As she read on, the possibility of controlling what happened when she was asleep was particularly appealing, and she began with writing down her dreams. Within a half year, Hermione could vividly remember most of her dreams and forcibly wake herself up from nightmares. By the time the next summer rolled around she had succeeded in controlling, for the most part, all that happened in her dreams. Thus, it was somewhat disturbing that this was the second haunting dream in a row from which she'd woken and remembered nothing about it.

The darkened common room seemed much less inviting at three o'clock in the morning than it usually did. Either that or it was merely her frazzled nerves. Nonetheless, Hermione pulled out her wand as she pulled open the door. She glanced back at the sleeping Fat Lady and smiled. The Fat Lady reclined in her chair, her bulk overflowing the armrests and her mouth wide open, snoring loudly. Gryffindor's door keeper wouldn't be thrilled at being woken upon Hermione's return.

Hermione walked along the hallways immersed in thought which, once again drifted back to Ron Weasley. She felt so abandoned since their estrangement. Sure, she was infuriated over what he had done to her and had no desire to get within a broom's length of him, but she also missed spending time as friends with him and Harry. The two of them were her sense of security and stability at Hogwarts, well at least partially so. She had to acknowledge, however, that the library was much more constant and consistent than the two of them – it was one of the reasons she loved it so. But, after all her time at Hogwarts, she had always counted on the two boys to be her core social and support group. That was the reason why she'd been so distraught in third year when they were angry with her. But she'd made it through third year fine, and it hurt a little less now. Furthermore, she had a great deal of validation for the anger and hatred she now felt for Ron. Focusing on her anger helped hold her hurt at bay during the daylight hours.

But at night things were different. The subdued appearance of everything around her quelled her anger and assuaged her hatred for Ron. She had nothing to lash out at, and the moonlight rent open her defenses. She wandered through the deadened hallways and descended the lifeless staircases. At this time of night, even the staircases were too drained to move. Her eyes welled with tears as she ineffectively tried to ignore the pain she felt. So far she had been remarkably successful in suppressing the emotions she might have had about Ron's betrayal. She'd cried only a little and found ways to ignore it most of the time. Before break she'd focused on her anger and vengeance, and during break, it had been easy to ignore him. Now, she was back at Hogwarts and things weren't back to normal. After all the times he'd shown how much he liked her, Ron had done a remarkable turnaround.

All alone, she now cried. She was deep in the castle's recesses when she slowed her steps as her tears increased.


	6. Vile Injustice

Note: PLEASE READ AND REVIEW! The next chapter will be much longer. It's already almost done and it just seemed to write itself. Anyways, I'm not at all abandoning Dramione, I just want to do it slowly and provide a lot of background. This will not be your typical Draco Hermione love affair. The next few chapters will be relatively light hearted, but things will change, and I'm hoping it to become somewhat dark before long. On another note, I don't like this chapter title at all, and I hope to replace it with something better. I was thinking of labeling it Hell's Fury, but I think I might want to reserve that for a later chapter in which it will be more apt and call to mind the Congreve quote.

Chapter 6 – Vile Injustice

Eventually, Hermione's tears slowed as exhaustion overtook her. As her tears diminished so did her thoughts, her body's longing for sleep taking precedence over the pain in her heart. With an aching fatigue she stumbled back to the common room. It had been nice to cry. It was a relief to feel drained of emotion.

If she hadn't been so worn out, she probably would have berated herself for crying over Ron. After all she was still very young, and the upcoming war should have put things into perspective for her. But, for once, her mind was blank and, most incredibly, empty of self criticism.

The next couple days dragged by incredibly slowly for Hermione. She threw herself into her work, resolutely trying to ignore Ron's existence. She was one of the first to leave the common room in the mornings to go to class, and she provided the Fat Lady with the password with only twenty seconds to spare before curfew. For the most part, Harry had broken out of his previous psychotic daze, and he stressed himself in an effort to divide his time between his two best friends. He'd slip back every so often, but it didn't take long for him to snap out of it.

Hermione was proud of herself in that she was the only one who had pinpointed what it took to bring her best friend back to reality. She smirked subtly every time Ginny laughed in the Great Hall, and was shocked that no one else noticed the brightness in Harry's eyes. Ah, springtime was approaching, and love was in the air – for everyone but Hermione.

In the meantime, between her studies, the only reflecting Hermione allowed herself to do was regarding the odd behavior of a certain blonde Slytherin. It was briefly entertaining to speculate absurd scenarios and schemes explaining his behaviors. It wasn't much and she didn't take her thoughts very seriously. At least it passed the time.

Dinner, that evening wasn't exactly what Hermione would have called an enjoyable affair. Sitting sandwiched between Harry and Seamus and across the table from Dean Thomas and Parvati was certainly not her idea of a pleasant and relaxing meal. Harry – in another funk – talked to no one unless prodded persistently. Dean kept shooting Ginny odd and annoyed looks because she had managed to slip from his possessive grasp for the final meal of the day.

No wonder Ginny was acting a bit restless. Hermione wondered how Ginny could ever put up with someone so domineering and possessive. If she was ever in a relationship like that, she hoped someone would put her out of her misery.

Parvati alternated between awkward bits of forced conversation with Seamus about Quidditch, and making pathetically unsuccessful attempts to extricate her best friend from staring into Ron's eyes adoringly. Ron was clearly uncomfortable and desperate enough to strike up conversations with everyone near him, including his twin brothers. Hermione hoped they'd spiked his drink with something nasty.

Sometimes, thought Hermione, being a teenager really is a bore. Having Ron seated a short distance from her was enough not only to put her on edge, but also to further incite her wildly oscillating emotions. Perhaps the only reason she'd been obsessing over Malfoy's oddities today was that she'd rather not think about Ron.

Ron incited such feelings in her that she couldn't control. The extent of her rage towards him was only exceeded by her hurt, which in and of itself was fueled by how much she cared for him. She hated the situation they were in because it was as though – because they had known each other so long – they'd certainly reconcile eventually. But for the life of her, Hermione couldn't see how she'd ever get over what he did to her.

She didn't want to let go of her petty vindictiveness; it was quite comforting. It was so much easier to rage at him than it would be to rage at herself for her stupidity. He had always been so immature. How could she have ever fallen for him? And trusted him? It was infuriating.

The worst part was that he wasn't sorry. He was always so self-righteous. How could he feel no guilt, no regret, and no pain at losing one of his best friends? Could she really have meant so little to him? She tried to tell herself that Ron had shown no regret when turning on Harry, and Harry still meant the world to him. But it was no consolation. The thought didn't comfort her not only because she doubted its truth in her heart, but also, because Harry was only a friend. She didn't want Ron to come around in the way he had with Harry in their fourth year. That just wasn't enough any longer. Ron ought to have loved her.

There were lots of boys who admired her and liked her. Boys who were so much better than Ron. Who were smarter, funnier, and who played Quidditch better – even though she didn't put too much weight on that particular skill. For that matter, Ron was decidedly normal. He didn't deserve her at all!

Well, Ron was going to realize how lucky he had been if she had anything to say about it. And he was certainly going to regret it. He would learn.

The tendrils of a plan began to form in her mind. All of a sudden, a certain passage from her years of Muggle education reentered her mind and seemed quite appropriate:

"Vile and ingrate! Too late thou shalt repent  
The base Injustice thou hast done my Love:  
Yes, thou shalt know, spite of thy past Distress,  
And all those Ills which thou so long hast mourn'd;  
Heav'n hath no rage like love to hatred turn'd,  
Nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorn'd".

Oh, said Hermione smiling to herself, this is just the beginning.

William Congreve's "The Mourning Bride"

PLEASE REVIEW: I'm sad that no one has found my story, because I think it's awesome and will only become more so.


End file.
